"Does that hash make sense to you?" asked Jones of Hendall.
"Sure," smiled Hendall, "it is fairly plain. It tells us that Williams of Interplanet wants us to head for Terra direct because of a plague of Venusian fever that would cause us to stay in quarantine. That would ruin the Line Moss. Prepare to change course, Mr. Jones!"
"Who could it be?" asked Jones foolishly.
"There is only one outfit in the Solar System that could possibly think of a stunt like this. And that is Channing and Franks of Interplanetary Communications. This signal came from Venus Equilateral."
"Wait a minute," said Freddy Thomas. "Here's some more."
"'As soon as this signal—intelligible—at right angles to your course for ten minutes. That will take—out of—beam and reflected—will indicate to us—left the area and know of our attempt.'"
"They're using a beam of some sort that indicates to them that we are on the other end but we can't answer. Mr. Jones, and Pilot Canton, ninety degrees north for ten minutes! Call the navigation officer to correct our course. I'll make the announcement to the passengers. Mr. Thomas, you are given the freedom of the bridge for the rest of the trip."
Mr. Thomas was overwhelmed. He'd learn plenty—and that would help him when he applied for training as a space officer; unless he decided to take a position with Interplanetary Communications when he grew up.
The signal faded from the little cruiser and silence prevailed. Don spoke into the microphone and said: "Run her up a millisecond," to the beam controller. The beam wiped the space above the previous course for several minutes and Franks was sending furiously: